


Unspoken emotions

by RogueLioness



Series: Fuckuary 2021 [4]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, NSFW, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29846487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueLioness/pseuds/RogueLioness
Summary: Day 4: Nikita Batra x Adam du MortainCunnilingus
Relationships: Detective/Adam du Mortain, Female Detective/Adam du Mortain
Series: Fuckuary 2021 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194248
Kudos: 9





	Unspoken emotions

It is hard watching Nikita- no, the Detective, it must be the Detective now, and nothing else- trying to not shift on the examination table as Elidor inspects her injuries. There’s an ugly patch of purple near her jaw, the length of her right arm is scraped raw, and Adam clenches his fist when Elidor lifts her shirt to expose more bruising - this time so close to her spine he has to work to suppress the shudder of fear. Too close. Too close. If she’d landed wrong, an inch to the left, if the meazel had used a fraction more force, if, if, if- it echoes in his head, over and over, the fear a physical clog in his throat.

“I’m fine,” she says for the tenth time, though he can see the wince she tries to hide as the fey nurse gently prods her wounds. “It’s just some scrapes and bruises, no big deal-” except it _is_ , they _are_ , each and every one of them a glaring symbol of how he’s failed - yet again - to keep her from harm, to keep her safe, each reddened wound a foghorn of her frailness and her mortality - and he can’t lose her, not so soon - _not ever_ , but that’s something he will not let rise from the depths of his heart and his mind (he will not, he will not, he _cannot_ ).

Finally, Elidor looks up at him, his features calm and free of concern, and it helps ease the coil of tension in his chest. “There’s no need for overnight observation,” he declares, and Adam is drawn to Nikita’s beaming face, the brightness in it filling the room like a sun. 

“Are you certain?” he asks gruffly. She hit the tree so hard. Her cry of pain was- it had stopped his heart, and not in the metaphorical sense. He had _felt_ his heart seize and stutter to stillness, the seconds drawing out into an infinity before she’d groaned _I’m okay_. “She could have internal injuries.”

“I haven’t found any,” Elidor gently helps her to her feet. There’s a momentary pang of envy as he observes the fey touch her so carefully, one that vanishes as the nurse continues, “I recommend rest, detective, for at least a day. You may remove your dressings before your daily ablutions; there is no need to replace them if you do not wish to. I would like to see you at the end of the week to ensure you are healing as you should.”

“Elidor, honestly, I’ve had worse injuries-” Adam freezes, his forehead furrowing. Something icy slides down his spine and coats the pit of his stomach. He can remember, all too vividly, what she’s referring to, remembers how _red_ her blood had been on his hands, the only color amidst the dreary grey, remembers the feeling of utter desolation that had slammed into him when he thought she was dead.

“If you do not come to see me, then I suppose I have no choice but to ask your team leader.” Elidor shifts to look at Adam. “Please make certain that she comes for her check-up on Friday.”

“I will ensure she keeps her appointment.” He will carry the detective over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes if it means she will attend the appointment. He feels the corners of his lips quirk upwards at her narrowed eyes and scrunched up nose, both signs that she’s aggravated. Then she’s looking at him, her gaze piercing, seeing more into him than he’d like - and her face softens, eyes dropping to the ground, foot scuffling the tile.

Elidor makes a quip about her taking better care of herself, to which she replies in her usual laughing, charming way, entirely steering away from the original request- something he would usually ignore, but when it comes to her health? He presses his lips together, feels his gaze thin with the annoyance in his throat. 

The detective hobbles - hobbles, because even though she’s trying to walk normally, she can’t quite cover the falter in her steps - towards him, her smile dropping at the sight of him (and something in his chest clenches hard, aches against his ribs). She reaches out to him, her hand on his arm light, hesitant, almost fearful (and that, too, is his fault, he knows, and that knowledge hurts) “See,” she says with a bravado that’s not entirely real, “I told you I was fine.”

Adam’s frown deepens. A muscle ticks at the end of his jaw, and he crosses his arms. _Why_ can she not _see_ how fragile she is-?

“Oooh, you’re in trouble now,” Felix mock-whispers.

“I did nothing wrong,” she defends herself as she limps her way into the corridor. Adam can tell she’s trying to hide the pain she’s in. Pain that she wouldn’t have been in had she just listened to him. Why is she incapable of staying in one place for more than two seconds?

“Bold move,” Mason takes a draw of his cigarette and expels it, white smoke drifting into nothingness. “Really fucking stupid, but bold.”

“Nika, I wish you wouldn’t take such risky actions,” Nate’s gentle voice is filled with worry, a concerned frown on his face.

“Look, you guys were preoccupied, and Adam was going to be surrounded,” she exclaims. “I’m a part of this team too, aren’t I? I did exactly what any of you would’ve done!”

Adam can hold his tongue no longer. “You disobeyed a direct order,” he snaps, his tone sharp and biting, but he is so filled with all the horrors of the _what-ifs_ that he cannot bring himself to soften it, though her wince has him feeling guilty.

“So, what?” she spins on her heel, jabs a finger at his chest. “I should’ve just let that creature stab you?”

“Yes,” he says implacably, his face carefully impassive, reminding himself that they’re _commanding agent_ and _liaison_ at the moment, not _man-who-cares_ and _woman-he-cares-about_. “That was precisely what you should have done.”

He can see the lick of temper in her eyes, in the throb of that vein in her neck, but her voice is deceptively calm when she speaks. “You know what, _commanding agent_ ?” Oh, that lands right in his gut. “Not only do I _not_ regret it, but I’d also _absolutely_ do it again if I had to, and the best part? _You can’t stop me_ . I _care_ about you, you- you- _moron!_ ” Her voice is a growl, and there’s a sheen to her eyes that makes him feel about an inch tall. She whirls and shuffles away, clearly favoring her left leg, leaving Adam staring after her. He can hear Felix laugh, and Mason’s deeper chuckle, but it’s Nate’s hand on his shoulder that has him moving, chasing after her.

“What?” she all but growls at him.

“I will drive you home,” he says.

She arches a brow. “I can drive myself, Adam. I’m fine.”

He says nothing - he worries that if he starts, everything that’s currently sitting tight in his sternum will pour out - but he hopes she sees the plea in his eyes, his _need_ to make sure she gets home safe, to see for himself that she’s settled comfortably for the night.

Nikita sighs. “Fine,” she grumbles and drops the key fob into his palm.

_Thank you_ , he thinks but does not say. The small smile she gives him tells him she heard it.

He drives ten miles below the speed limit, despite her many huffs and grunts of annoyance. She is too precious a cargo for him to risk. He parks her car in the usual spot (wondering, for the thousandth time, if there’s a non-suspicious way to replace the dented, barely-functioning vehicle) and hovers around her as she makes her way up the stairs to her apartment. She unlocks the door and swings it open. Whatever she’s about to say is shocked into silence as he steps through the doorway. Nikita swallows and closes the door, taking a deep breath before she faces him. “I’m sorry for calling you names,” she begins, but-” 

The last of his defenses crumble. She put herself in harm’s way- for _him._ She, a human, frangible, _finite_ \- she charged into the fray to _protect_ him, and he could have so easily lost those warm honeyed eyes- he takes a step towards her, then another, the entirety of his focus on her cautious gaze. Adam frames her face with his hands, keeping his touch as light as he can - he worries, over and over, that his strength will overwhelm her, knows how easy it would be for him to accidentally crush her - and bends towards her, searching her face for any signs of reluctance.

When his lips meet hers, she sighs, soft and pleased, places her palms on his chest, fingers digging into his skin, as she sags into him. Her tongue carries the iron and salt of her blood, but beneath those he finds a hearth, feels the space to make a home. She is the light at the end of a long, dark tunnel, the dawn after an endless night, the lighthouse in a tempest, and he feels- at peace. Tethered to a sanctuary immovable and unshakeable.

Her mouth is softer than silk, her skin satin, and the scent of her - ginger and amber - wraps around him, soothes him, reassures him in the same way the heart beating so rapidly in her chest does, both speaking to him in a way nothing else can that she’s _alive_.

She breaks away, gasping for breath, her hands fisted in his shirt. Adam chases after her lips at his own pace, stopping to press a kiss to her chin, to peck the spot on her cheek where he knows her dimple forms, attempting to celebrate and commit to memory every inch of her face beyond what he knows already.

“Adam?” her tone is concerned, and she covers his hands with hers - and it is then he realizes that he’s trembling. “Are you okay?”

He blinks at her, waiting for that voice - the one that shouts at him to stay away from her, that he will hurt her, that he is no good for her - to roar once more, but there is only silence. Even it seems to need this reassurance. He swallows, the lump in his throat settling into his stomach. “You were-” he struggles for words, labors to find the right way to explain. “I need you,” he says instead, the confession hanging in the space between them, a small thing that carries the weight of his heart.

“Adam,” she whispers, face so soft, so fond, so gentle, all for him (he can hardly believe it) as she draws his head down till their foreheads touch. “You have me.”

The curtains in her bedroom are shut, a habit that’s lingered after their encounter with the maa-alused, and the only source of light is the lamp on her dresser. She stands at the foot of the bed, warm smile on her face, and waits for him.

Always, always she waits for him. Not tonight.

His hands are careful and precise as he unbuttons her shirt, helping her out of it, and then her bra, before he turns his attention back to her. He lets his fingers lightly graze over her bruises, exhales with sympathy at the myriad grazes, then folds to his knees to the floor so he can brush his lips over her injuries. Each one of them is lovingly tended, each one has a wish for healing spread across them before Adam seals it with a kiss. He feels her shudder beneath his ministrations, but knows it isn’t from cold; and when he guides her out of her trousers her breath is hitched and her heart racing.

Nikita tugs at the collar of his t-shirt. “Please?” she asks. “I want to see you, too.”

He smiles, and pulls the garment over his head, discarding it carelessly to the side. She steps closer, and when her hand touches his skin, he wants to laugh with an emotion he cannot name. She touches him as though he is the most fragile crystal, as though he is delicate bone china - as though _she_ were the unworthy one.

That will not do.

He gently - always gently, always, _always_ \- pushes her down to the bed, hushes her when she makes to protest. “Let me take care of you,” he says, “please.” She listens - for once! - and he arranges himself next to her, ensures that he will not accidentally assault her with a stray knee or elbow.

And then Adam indulges himself, sets teeth to the lobe of her ear and tugs (still gentle), presses lips to the base of her jaw, slides tongue down the slope of her neck (covering her beating pulse with his mouth, because he cannot resist). The shadows in the dip of her throat he examines thoroughly, the shape of her shoulder he deems exquisite, and her moans, he thinks, are perhaps the only music worth listening to.

Her chest is flushed red, like poppies in June, and he can see the faint remnants of old, old scars, and investigates those, first with fingers, then with lips, before he turns his attention to her breasts, unable to resist sliding a thumb across the beaded tip, smiling at the soft gasp she makes. He keeps his touch light, stroking the sides of her breasts, then the undersides and then he cups them, groaning at the sight of them spilling out of his hands, unable to resist leaning in and drawing one puckered nipple into his mouth.

Nikita _keens_. It is a sound that he knows will haunt him evermore.

He lets her squirm against her, listens to the way she moans and gasps, hisses when her hand slides into his hair and tugs - hard. The sting has his cock - already hard, beaded with his arousal - ache with renewed need, but he pays it no heed. His focus is on her, on her need - on what he needs her to have. He presses light, open-mouthed kisses between her breasts, down her stomach, noting the spot on her waist that has her chuckling, grabs the elastic of her underwear between his teeth. She’s raised herself on her elbows, pupils blown wide as she watches him drag them down, and take them off entirely. His eyes flutter shut and a groan escapes from deep within his chest as the scent of her arousal hits him.

Adam shifts himself till he’s on the floor, carefully drags her to the edge of the mattress, meeting her gaze as his thumbs stroke the tops of her thighs. “Yes,” she exhales shakily in response to his unspoken question, and he smiles and places a kiss on her mound before turning his attention to her long, lithe legs. He kisses his way up one leg, flicks his tongue in the hollow behind her knee - that has her squirming - then the other, before he gives in to temptation and softly nips the inside of her thigh.

She’s soaked, her slit dripping and fragrant, and the moan she makes when he touches his tongue to her swollen clit is _obscene_. Lewd. Filthy.

He can’t get enough of it.

Adam settles between her thighs, drawing them over his shoulders for better access to her core. He tries to tell her, in his own way, just how much he cares for her. Shows her, with the press of his lips to her skin, just how scared he was, how much he worries for her, uses his tongue to express the sum total of all the feelings he doesn’t have the words for. _Please, be careful. Please, be safe. Please, I can’t lose you, I can’t bear to even think of it, you are precious, you are a treasure._ Everything he cannot say he strokes into her folds, willing them to seep into her and protect her when he can’t. 

He lets the sounds she makes guide him - flicking her clit with his tongue has her whimpering, rubbing the flat of it against the nub has her mewling, and when he wraps her lips around it and sucks-

She arches her back and shouts his name.

Oh, he likes that most of all.

He knows when she’s close to peaking, senses it in the quivering of her legs, and he gentles his touch when that happens - he’s not ready to end this, not yet - and he kisses her thigh in apology as she whines with dismay. 

He’s still caressing her clit with his tongue when he runs a finger down her folds before pressing the slick-covered digit into her, slow, steady, always watching for distress, jaw clenched taut at how hot and wet and tight she is. Adam can’t help moaning against her when she clenches her walls around him, and he shifts her slightly as he searches for the spot on the front of her walls. When his finger presses against the spongy tissue, she calls for him, her voice little better than a breathy wisp of air. “Please, Adam,” she begs. “ _Please_.”

He relents.

He adds a second finger at her gasped _more_ , starts to pump them in and out earnestly, his free hand settling over her lower abdomen so he can rub his thumb against her clit. He desperately wants to - _needs_ to- see her shatter, to see her fall apart with pleasure- for him, because of him, around him- wants it with the kind of fervor a zealot has.

Her climax is a glorious sight. Her thighs clench almost painfully around him as she ruts against his face, his name coated with ecstasy as it spills, soft and high-pitched, from her lips. Her eyes are half-lidded and the look in them dazed and drunk. She looks debauched; a wanton acolyte of a degenerate god, and he is the only too willing instrument of her prayer.

“Adam,” her voice has the huskiness that comes with sex, her eyes dazed as she reaches out to him. He wipes his mouth on the crook of his elbow before he goes to her, kissing her softly, sweetly, gathering her up in his arms and holding her to him, drawing the sheets over their forms when she begins to shiver. A comfortable silence falls between them, lingers for several minutes before he speaks. “I thought-” the words choke in his throat, catch on the roof of his mouth. “Seeing you be thrown like that-” He tightens his grip on her, presses suddenly trembling lips to the top of her head. “Please,” he murmurs into her hair, “be more careful. I cannot- I cannot bear to lose you.”

She guides his face towards hers. Her eyes are tender, filled with warm affection and a host of other emotions that he’s too scared to decipher. “I will try,” her voice is soft, and she kisses him like she’s making a promise.

It is not enough for Adam - but it will have to do. 


End file.
